The Joust
by uhpockuhlipz
Summary: When her knight dies, Brittany Pierce's only option to feed herself and her friends is to take his place in the joust. It's her job as the best rider of the group, after all. How does one change their stars? By cross-dressing, jousting, and wooing Lady Santana Lopez, of course. Brittana fic based on A Knight's Tale. [HIATUS]
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

It starts with a rumbling stomach.

Well, a rumbling stomach and a very dead Kenneth Tanaka.

The body lay prone in the tent, unmoving even as flies dance over the pallid skin of his arms and feet. The stench is almost unbearable, a mix of unbathed flesh, unwashed clothing, and released bowels. Even the strips of cloth shoved into her nostrils can't block it out completely and she is certain that without them it would have knocked her off her feet. Not that Brittany currently cares about the scent. No, she is far more concerned with the sight of her dead patron, disappointment and pity churning in her already cramped stomach. She hadn't been with the man for very long. He was just another knight in a long line of knights in need of a seamstress and horse tender. Still, how could anyone feel anything but sad over such a sight? Or such a smell.

"Oh, for God's sake!"

Well, alright, perhaps Noah could feel something besides empathy. Blue eyes dance over to the young man where he'd just pushed through the tent flaps, staring at him as he swore and cursed the dead knight with a colorful array of words Brittany didn't even know existed. The muscles in his broad shoulders jump and flex as he tosses his hands up, cursing their fate with every breath. "How the hell will we eat with this bloody bastard just lying here, dead as Jesus?" He moves further into the tent, gagging on the scent even as he shoves Sir Kenneth's shoulder like the action might rouse him. Brittany isn't quite certain what it is he hopes to accomplish, but she doesn't argue. She is far too focused on the rumbling in her belly that tells her it has been far too long since her last meal.

Again the tent opens, the second of Sir Kenneth's squires stepping hesitantly inside, no doubt to discover why Noah Puckerman was shouting so loudly, or maybe to find out why Brittany had been standing there for the past five minutes. "Is he…?" But he doesn't even finish the question with the answer so obvious in front of him. Brittany sees the despair fill the dark eyes of the Asian boy now stood beside her and she reaches out, patting Michael Chang's arm with sympathy even as she continues to stare at Noah pounding into the dead knight's chest. "You're not helping a bit, Noah," Michael chides, and when the other lad ignores him, he steps forward to grip his arm. Their whispered argument carries on for a few moments with Brittany's mind wandering far from them. It is only a knock on the front of the tent that stirs her and she turns to open it again, greeting the agitated man standing just outside with a warm smile. He gives her a strange look and Brittany's brows scrunch together as she tries to decipher the reason. The confused expression she wears shifts the muscles in her face and she becomes suddenly aware of the cloth strips in her nose, laughing as she pulls them out and tucks them behind her back.

"Can I help you?" she asks politely and he clears his throat, obviously not about to question her actions.

"Sir Kenneth Tanaka is needed at the lists right away, or else he forfeits the tournament." He speaks briskly, his words spurring on the argument behind her. Their voices grow louder, Noah demanding to know how they will pay for food without a knight to earn some coins. It's a question that Brittany's grumbling stomach wants to know the answer of as well. There is no doubt in her mind that she has always served the knights she's worked for with skill. Perhaps there were times her stitching was a bit crooked or she forgot to patch up a torn pant leg, but she knew she did good work otherwise. And no one handled Ken's horses like Brittany. She does her job and earns her keep… But what were they to do if there was no keep to earn?

The question repeats itself over and over in her mind as she stares up at the increasingly impatient man before her until at last she finds herself blurting out, "He will be there." Her words halt the argument within the tent, but she pushes on without hesitating now. "Five minutes please, sir, and Sir Kenneth will be there. I swear it. He has only to redress in his armor." The silence reigns, striking them all mute for a full minute before the man sighs like the most put-upon squire in the nation, turning to return to his place to announce Sir Kenneth's eminent arrival.

Brittany, meanwhile, is spinning around, shouting for the boys to strip his armor and fix it to her own body. She's pulling off her own clothes, halfway through tugging up her tunic before she realizes they haven't moved. "What?" she asks in confusion. "We have five minutes, boys, come on now. Fit me with the armor so that I can win us some supper."

"Brittany…" Michael begins, but Noah cuts him off before he can even hope to find some suitable response.

"No chance of that, Brittany. You're not of noble birth, and you're a woman besides." She glares at him as best she can – Brittany is not known for her fierceness – but he only shrugs, a quick lift of shoulders before he smirks at her and tries to shake the idea from her head. "Besides, Tanaka's armor will drown you. You are far too slender and far too fragile. If we are to go through with such a plan, it should be Michael or myself who-"

"Who embarrasses himself and loses the tournament by being unseated?" she cuts in, blue eyes unwavering. The two squires glance at each other, a quick acknowledgement of the fact she is right. Of the three, only Brittany possesses any true talent in the saddle. They are suited only to sitting atop horses and walking them from one place to the next. No more, no less. If there was to be anyone who maintained their seat, it would be Brittany. For a moment the three stare at each other, uncertainty thick in the air. And then Noah curses, breaking the silence as he turned to Kenneth's body to remove the armor.

"May God protect you," Michael mumbles as the two begin to fix the heavy metal to the thin female's frame. "May God help us all…"

* * *

The air is chilled. Brittany can see her horse's breath clouding before his muzzle as they wait to be released. "Steady, boy," she murmurs to him as he prances anxiously in place, her fingers tight around the leather of her reins while the other remains free, prepared to grip her lance. Though she tries not to show it outwardly, the blonde is beyond nervous. She only needs to stay on her horse to win. That's it. It's a gamble, but if she can stay mounted, they will eat tonight. All she has to do is maintain her seat, something she's done a million times before. Granted, that was without having a very long piece of wood jabbed into her abdomen, so… They would just had to see how it goes.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Michael says, but Noah rolls his eyes and steps forward, carefully putting the unbroken lance in Brittany's free hand.

"Aim true, Brittany," he murmurs and she nods, gulp hidden by the heavy metal of her borrowed armor. "And for God's sake, stay on the damned horse so that we might eat tonight and be done with it." She nods, gulping again as the full weight of the lance is in her trembling hand. It's heavier than expected, but years of lifting hay and grain and rolls of fabric have toughened her and she grits her teeth, tilting the lance down properly as she faces the man down the lane. He's on the other side of the center divide, watching her even as she watches him.

Then the flag is dropped and they both take off, horses whinnying and kicking up dirt as they fly towards one another with a purpose. _Stay on, _her mind whispers. _Just stay on… _They draw closer. She sees his eyes through the slit in his visor before he tilts his head up and they collide.

Stars explode in her eyes as the lance meets her helmet, sends her reeling… But somehow she clings to the horse's back, sitting still upon his back as the crowd cheers for a man now laying dead some distance from this arena. They are cheering for her, really, and elation slowly builds in her gut until she is grinning dizzily beneath her dented visor, not quite able to sit up straight. "I've done it," she whispers when a cheering Noah catches her horse, whooping as thick fingers wrap around the reins. Michael grins, patting Mercury's neck even as he stares up at Brittany.

"You have," he agrees. "You stayed on. That's what counts."

Later she is presented with gold for winning and she clutches it to her chest, though really the too-large armor prevents it from coming anywhere close to her thin frame. She wonders after the feeling inside of her, the feeling of accomplishment, the feeling of complete and utter… _rightness_. As if she were doing something she was created by Him to do. It is the strangest feeling and she tries to push it aside because, obviously, women (peasants) were not knights. There was no way to be a knight, not like this, not for her. Only knights could joust. Only…

Only, she wanted to joust so badly.

They reach the road and each squire holds out their hands for their share, but she hesitates with the gold in her palms. It's the moment of truth, the time of making a decision. "You know," she says slowly, a smile creeping across pink lips, "I've always wanted to be a knight…"


	2. The Hunter

_Chapter One_

The early morning sun creeps slowly up over the horizon, its light stretching over the land and toward the pair of sleeping squires. To any passersby, they look remarkably unkempt, coated in dirt from hours of walking and stinking to high Heaven. The horse is tied close by, already grazing lazily as he waits for them to rise, a full bucket of water at his side. Around them, the hills roll in dazzling green, grass damp with morning dew and the air thick with the hope and fear of a new day. Brittany breathes it in, her eyes staring down the road as she strokes a hand down the side of Mercury's neck. "We are going to enter a real tournament soon," she coos to the horse, his dark mane slipping through her fingers. The animal does not react to her words. He wouldn't, she thinks. He's been in many tournaments before. It is only Brittany who is new to the whole thing.

Her hands lift, wringing out long hair damp from the close by river's water. She is clean, unlike the two men she travels with, and prepared for whatever is to come. "Have you picked a name?" Brittany blinks, staring hard at the horse beside her. He is still grazing, not even paying her a lick of attention, and she wonders when he'd learned that trick. It isn't until her name is said and a shadow shifts beside her that she turns to discover it was only Michael, tall and quiet Michael with his calm, sad smile and his steady eyes. "You'll need a man's name if you are to compete in the joust and convince everyone you are a man. A nobleman at that."

Brittany wrinkles her nose and shrugs, attention slipping back to the horse she adores more than the knight who had ridden him. "It should be something easy to remember," she says, a hint of doubt in her voice. "Something close to my own name or else I'll never be able to respond to it when I'm supposed to." Michael nods in agreement, smiling his encouragement.

"So a B name," he prompts, hoping to stir something in her mind. She nods and speaks no further on it, no matter how long he waits, and so he sighs and shakes his head. "Okay, Brittany. Think on it so that we might be prepared when the time comes." She only nods again and he takes it as a dismissal this time, turning to leave her alone once more.

"Michael." She speaks quietly, so quietly he's almost not certain she's actually spoken. Yet when he looks, those blue eyes are focused on him, bright and sad and full of worry. "I'm sorry that I'm keeping you from going home. I swear we will go back, as soon as we can do. I think… I just think this is what we need to get through, to have enough to bring home instead of tucking our tails and returning with nothing. Is… Is that okay?" The whole speech surprises him, to be honest. The pale haired girl is not usually the type for long-winded conversation. It is because, she has told him in the past, she does not very often have anything to say. Most put it down to a lack of education or intelligence, but Michael figures it is more a fear of saying something that she will regret or that people will not understand. There is a mind that lives in another world inside her head, a mind filled with innocence and delusions. But it is a good place she lives and he sees no harm in it. No harm in her, the sweet girl who wants only to put enough gold in their pockets that they might return home triumphant with something to offer their families.

"If I was worried about it, Brittany, I would have left. Puck and I, we are with you. Your men through and through." The words earn him a radiant smile and she tosses herself forward into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you," Brittany whispers, voice breaking with emotion. The rare display of outward affection embarrasses him and he pats her head, nudging her back a proper step or two. She only grins, delighted with him and with the entire thing in general. She was going to be a knight. She was going to follow dreams she'd had only as a child, dreams she'd written off as impossible because she'd been born everything a knight was not. Now here she is, preparing to start anew as… As… "Bryan Pricion." Michael blinks at her and she smiles confidently, jabbing her thumb lightly at her own chest. "Sir Bryan Pricion of Brittany," she says, attempting to lower her voice to a more masculine timbre. The effort has Michael bursting into a fit of laughter and she slaps at him with a yelled, "I'll work on it!" even as she laughs along.

"I hope Sir Bryan is a knight far superior to Sir Kenneth Tanaka," he replies and the two laugh again, shaking their heads over their dead liege.

"May he rest peacefully," Brittany says somberly, though blue eyes sparkle with mirth, "Though he never let us do so. How he snored!" And they are both laughing again, hard enough that Puck soon stirs and snaps at them to shut their gobs. It only spurs on their laughter until he too is rising and joining in on the merriment. It is probably the last risk-free day they will spend together. From now on, they are playing a dangerous game of pretend…

\\

She is bruised and exhausted from hours upon hours of training, every muscle screaming for some form of relief. It doesn't come, of course. Every spare moment she has is dedicated to transforming the more elite clothing of their former liege into something passable for Brittany's far slimmer frame. She fashions a sort of padding to disguise her breasts beneath the somewhat loose (but by far smaller than they had been) shirts and creates a sort of tube of stuffed cloth to fill out the crotch of her pants as well. Her first time wearing the fake man parts, she blushes and stutters and can't meet Michael and Puck's eyes for the whole of the day. She's seen a cock before, of course. It is impossible not to when the whole of your life is spent around foolish boys and their drunken nights of debauchery. However, no cock – even a fake one – has ever been so close to her own lady parts and it somehow feels indecent to have it there now, stuffed down the front of her breeches and filling them so that the bundle presses awkwardly against her. How men ride like this she'll never know. "No wonder I'm a far superior rider," she says to the two males in her company. "How you manage to do anything more than a walk with your dangling bits all in the way is beyond me."

"My dangling bits prefer a different type of ride," Puck returns with a waggle of his eyebrows and Brittany blushes again to the roots of her hair while Michael smacks the other boy upside the head. Mercury trudges on, ignoring the three as if to say he is far above their shenanigans and improper conversation.

On it goes, but the bickering brings comfort to the nervous blonde sitting atop the horse's back. They've been together for a long time, the three of them. Brittany and Michael since early childhood and Puck not long after that. They know each other the way siblings might, and love each other the same way. It is why both of them agreed to Brittany's plan, why even now Puck whines that it is his turn upon Mercury's back and that Brittany can walk for a while. "Okay," she says with a shrug, but Michael punches the other boy's shoulder.

"You would have a _knight _walk?" he says with a smirk, his tone teasing. "She should take your head from your shoulders for such an insinuation, Puckerman!"

"_He_, Michael," Puck corrects with a roll of his eyes, shoving the other boy's shoulder. "Or have you forgotten that SirBrittany is now the proud owner of a cock?" The statement has them laughing again, drunk on what might be their last days of freedom. Brittany only smiles indulgently without comment, her hand reaching up to adjust the cap covering her pale hair. She still isn't used to the shorter length of it, the ends not quite reaching her shoulders, nor the messy state she'd been forced to leave it in to appear more masculine. The cut is not her favorite, but it was far too risky to keep it long. Sacrifices had to be made for the good of the whole plan, right? Right. Absolutely right. She was a man now, with man hair and a man voice and man parts and-

"There's a sad sight," Puck says, his words drawing Brittany out of her thoughts. "Here I was, walking along thinking we had it rough. Well, at least we are clothed." When blue eyes land on the figure sitting on the grass just up ahead, Brittany can't help but agree. He is a scrawny man, slim and pale and very naked, coated now in a layer of dirt no doubt kicked up at him by passersby on horseback. She slows Mercury down until she stands beside him, a small smile curling her lips even as she attempts to keep her eyes a good three inches above his head.

The boy looks up, brows furrowed as he tries to place the people now beside him. "Were you robbed?" the rider ventures and he tilts his head, curious about the strange lilt to the young man's voice.

"You could say that," he says at last, nodding. "It isn't hard to take from a man with legs incapable of running away." He lifts one and lets it drop again, useless and limp, to the ground. Brittany gasps and instantly dismounts, rifling through a saddlebag until she finds some spare clothing. This she tosses down at the surprised boy, shoulders lifting in a shrug in response to his baffled look.

"It's cheating to rob a man who can't walk," she says. "You're not to blame for someone taking your clothes, so here. Have some of mine. It's too big for you, but it's better than sitting here with nothing… Where are you headed?"

He motions in the direction they are headed before he starts to pull on the offered clothing, grunting with the effort of getting the pants on over his lifeless limbs. "Wherever the road takes me," he says. "I'm a writer. I don't have any specific destination in mind. The name is Abrams, by the way." The scrawny boy smirks expectantly, waiting for the trio to gasp in shocked recognition. Their faces remain blank. He frowns and tries again, offering this time a meek, "Arthur Abrams? The writer?" Still nothing. A sigh escapes and he waves a hand vaguely. "Never mind, then. You can just call me Artie. Where are the three of you headed?"

"The tournament," Brittany says brightly, clearing her throat when she realizes how high her voice had been. "I am Sir Bryan Pricion of Brittany. These are my squires, Noah and Michael. And this is Mercury." A slim hand comes down, patting the shoulder of the animal beside her.

Never in his life has Artie seen someone more incapable of lying. His eyebrows go up again and he laughs, head shaking slightly. "And my name is Jesus Christ. Really, are you actually hoping to pass as a knight? You're no more nobility than I am the son of God."

And then there is a knife at his throat, held by the cold-eyed squire with the broad shoulders and thick arms. "Call he- _him_ a liar again and see where it gets you, Abrams." The steel of the blade glints in the midday sun, sharp and threatening before him. Artie blinks and lifts a hand, slowly pushing the blade aside. It is a threat he believes, and a slip he can't ignore.

"Then _she _will need someone to do a better job at lying for her," he says quietly, gaze slipping past Noah to focus on the pale blonde again. What little color had pinkened her cheeks before is now gone and he can see the pale gold of her freckles on her cheeks. She looks so frightened that he cannot help but soften. Artie has always had a soft spot for women in distress. "Look, I'm a writer and an aspiring politician. I'm the best kind of liar. Let me return your kindness, _sir, _and accompany you on your journey. You'll need patents of nobility to enter any tournament in any case. I can draw those up for you." He sees the ways her eyes flicker with confusion, sees how she looks briefly to where the second boy stands just to her right side. He is frowning, but seems to be thinking it over. Artie knows they cannot pass up what he offers them. There is no way any of the three of them know how to read, let alone write. They need him as much as he needs them.

"If you speak a word of what she is to another living soul," the oriental man says, "I will remove your tongue and feed it to you. Is that clear?" He speaks slowly, calmly, and his threat is far more chilling than the larger man's. Artie gulps and nods. Michael smiles winningly. "Wonderful. Then let's get you on the damned horse so we can get out of here." And suddenly he is being lifted, his useless legs settled on either side of the horse's body before they set off again. Neither of the males speak to him, but the blonde rests a hand on his knee and squeezes. He thinks maybe she doesn't realize he can't feel it, but he's still grateful for the gesture.

"I'm Brittany," she whispers to him, her smile warm and friendly. "Thank you for helping us."

And he can only smile and say "You're welcome," in return. Suddenly he doesn't feel like he could have done anything else.

\\

It's worked. She cannot believe it's worked, and now she is officially entered into the tournament as the knight Bryan Princion of Brittany. The acceptance of her admission had her quietly cheering for herself and her new herald (a job she is quick to give Artie after his faked patents pass the test) before she mounts Mercury for a victory ride. The horse is calm, as usual, walking quietly along even as Brittany all but dances on his back. She's singing, cannot help but to belt out a lively tune as she rides along to familiarize herself with the new town. They will be here a good few weeks, after all, and she wants to take in all the sights and stalls of the market as she goes. There is so much to see. It is all so different from the life she'd been leading for so long and her newfound freedom as a man and a knight is exhilarating. No one stops her to ask where she is going or what she is doing. No one questions if she belongs where she is or if she is truly supposed to be there. She is a man, and a noble, so she is free to do as she feels. Not something she'd thought on before, but now she is quite enjoying it.

Eyes filled with excitement scan the rows and rows of tents, searching out brightly patterned fabric and loose animals just begging to be played with. There are children and she softens as a pair shoot by, their tiny hands wielding fake wooden swords that they jab merrily at each others' chests. It doesn't matter to her that they are coated in dirt and filth, nor does it seem to matter to them. They are happy in their game and Brittany is happy to watch them until they are out of sight. Dozens and dozens of people fill the paths between the tents and she is finding it hard to focus on any one thing.

Until.

It is the white cloth that gets her attention first, so clean amongst the filth. Then the swing of black curls as they fall over the woman's shoulder. Brittany is instantly enraptured, gaze bright and searching as it follows the other woman's progress. Without even realizing it, she is steering Mercury towards her, pushing him a bit faster through the crowd to try and catch up to the white-skirted woman. She moves fast, Brittany thinks with a grin. It doesn't occur to her to wonder why she is pursuing the other woman. She just does it, following the instincts that tell her to hurry, hurry, hurry to her side.

When she catches her, the black-haired beauty is stopped outside a vendor, her gaze trailing listlessly over the dozens of assorted flowers spread out before her. "The daisy," Brittany offers and the woman spins around, eyes wide with surprise. They are nearly as black as her hair, the blonde realizes, and there are secrets buried deep in them that she wants to discover almost immediately. But they are hidden just as quickly, disguised behind thick walls as the other girl frowns at her and lets her distaste show quite clearly.

"Excuse me?" she snaps and Brittany cannot help but smile over her prickly outer shell, shoulders lifting.

"The daisy," she says again. "It is cheerful and warm and I think it would suit you." She plucks one up from the vendor, tucks it behind the woman's ear before her hand can be swatted away. Those dark eyes are watching her with surprise and confusion, a mixture Brittany has earned many times in the past and enjoys getting now. Being predictable is boring, after all. "Hi, by the way."

"I'm not interested." The brunette gives a dismissive wave and turns back toward the vendor, much to Brittany's amusement.

"I am," she admits, not ashamed about that fact. The other girl interests her and Brittany has never been one to spurn something so fascinating. "I am Br… Bryan. Sir Bryan Pricion of Brittany. And you are…?"

"Still not interested," she returns, not even looking up. However, she's been looking at the same arrangement of flowers since Brittany had joined her and the blonde notices this as well. It makes her chuckle quietly to herself.

"Then I shall call you only Lady until you grant me your name," she murmurs, head turning to glance over her shoulder in the direction she'd come from. "I hope to see you again, Lady. I have to get back to my men now before Puck burns the tent down, but it was nice meeting you." And away she went, whistling to herself as she steers her mount through the tents in her path. There is a coin now laying on the vendor's table, enough to cover the daisy tucked so innocently beneath black curls.

Lady Santana Lopez turns her head to watch the progress of the knight as he goes, a frown tilting her lips as she reaches up and touches slim fingers to the petals of the flower. It is soft to the touch and she itches to remove it and give it back to the vendor.

But when she walks away, it is still tucked behind her ear, white petals standing out brightly against glossy black.


	3. The Angel

_Chapter Two_

There are bruises, she thinks, where bruises are not meant to be. There wouldn't be quite so many if she had armor that fit, but that is beyond her price range. Far, far beyond it. If she could move more freely, she knows she would do better. As it is, however, she has to deal with what she has. Kenneth Tanaka was a big man in his life and now his big armor all but swallowed Brittany. Puck thinks it's hilarious. Brittany used to think so until she'd tried jousting in it. "I'm only going to lose over and over if I can't move properly," she mutters one day, kicking at a loose shoulder plate.

Michael picks it up from the ground and settles it with the rest of the armor, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "You wanted to do this, Brittany. You'll have to deal with it."

"It's a mess!" She motions to the chest piece, severely dented from where it had been struck in her earlier match. "There's nothing to keep its shape and now it looks foolish. _I _look foolish, Michael. I just…" She sighs, pouting slightly over the mess of her armor. "I don't want to look silly with everyone watching me. I want them to see how talented I am. _Bryan _is. That's all."

This isn't the first time this conversation has come up since the start of this whole thing and it won't be the last. Michael knows it, just as he knows they can't afford new armor. Brittany's done well considering what she has to work with, but they all know that she won't win any of the higher up matches this way. "Maybe you can seduce a blacksmith into making you better fitted armor," Puck suggests with a smirk and Brittany blushes, scratching at the back of her neck to keep from looking too embarrassed by the comment.

"I'm a boy in their eyes, Noah."

"So what?" he quips, cackling when she only blushes more. Michael smacks him upside the head and Artie sends him a withering look, but it doesn't take from his amusement. "I'm just saying, there's bound to be at least one of them interested in playing with a handsome young lad, _Bryan_. Go see which of them is willing to play with you."

This only earns another smack from Michael, the young man rolling his eyes before looking back to Brittany. "See if one will make armor for you with the promise of pay after you win. You cannot win without proper armor. It's kind of just a big circle. There's bound to be at least one sympathetic man out there, right?" And Brittany, who believes there is good in any and all people, agrees with a smile and a nod. It can't be that hard, right?

/

It turns out to be extremely hard.

She goes to at least two blacksmiths and a farrier, all of whom turn her away as the phrase, "and then I'll pay you after I win the tournament" escapes her mouth. It isn't fair because Brittany _knows _she is trustworthy and that she'll somehow pay even if she doesn't win, but none of these men trust her. "You don't buy armor with a wink and a smile, lad," one of them guffaws. The next doesn't even hear her out, but holds up a hand to stop her words before she even opens her mouth. He continues to work as he points across the way at a lone woman working and sweating over a fire. "Try the woman," he grumbles with a smirk. "I 'magine she's not too picky with her customers."

Brittany is desperate now. She's been at this for so long. The blacksmiths' tents are hot and stick and she just wants to escape back to her tent. This woman is her last hope, and she wanders almost hesitantly towards her station with a hopeful smile on her face. The woman doesn't even look up. "No." The smile Brittany wears falters and her hands fiddle with the hem of her tunic, twisting it as she tries to think of something to say. She doesn't get the chance. A temper must have been brewing inside the woman because she suddenly looks up at Brittany with eyes feline in color, all greens and browns and golds. Lion eyes, she thinks with another hopeful smile. Maybe if she kept looking pathetic, the woman would see how desperate she is with her lion eyes. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I trade my work for sex or handsome favors, boy. You want armor, then you need to have the money to purchase it."

"But I can't win a joust if I don't have proper armor," Brittany implores. "And if I can't win, I won't have money to pay for anything. If you could just-"

"I don't run a charity, Sunshine," the woman snaps. "I run a business. So unless you can pay me up front, I can't do shite for you. Good day." She pushes back her golden hair and turns from Brittany, silent and determined to ignore the knight at her side.

For a long moment, Brittany watches the other blonde shape a horseshoe, eyes glued to her hammer as she ponders what to say. Eventually she heaves a heavy sigh, shrugging as if to say it didn't matter. "Oh, well. They told me not to even come over here. I should have listened to them." She turns to walk away, but the woman calls out to her.

"Who said that?" she asks, and the temper is back in her autumn moss eyes.

"Oh, the other blacksmiths." She shrugs again, all apologetic charm. Bryan is shy, forgivable. He doesn't cause offense. The more unobtrusive, the better. Brittany likes Bryan and she hopes she can get him some armor because he – and she – have been taking some awful beatings in the lists. "They said I shouldn't waste my breath asking you because you can't make armor, only horseshoes."

The woman's nostrils flare with annoyance. "Did they say that because I am a woman?"

Brittany considers which answer will get her some new armor. At last she gives a sympathetic wince and bobs her head in a small nod. "Yes."

Without another word, the blacksmith turns and begins stoking her fire.

/

Mercury prances beneath her, muscles rippling in anticipation of the challenge ahead. Sitting astride the eager mount, Sir Bryan Pricion of Brittany rolls his shoulder and tests the flexibility of his brand new custom made armor. The blacksmith – Quinn, she learned – is now yet another person who knows the secret, but she seems trustworthy enough. Brittany had taken an instant liking to the girl and it seemed that Quinn, after the initial irritation, had come to enjoy Brittany's company as well. It helped that she had promised to bring the girl with her as far as London and now the second blonde seemed to feel almost indebted to her, even if it meant putting up with Puck and Michael. Anyways, so now she knows Bryan isn't actually from Brittany, but is called Brittany. That was it, she thinks as she twists the leather of her reins. No one else was allowed to know. If too many people know a secret, the secret won't stay a secret. That much she knows is true. The flag drops and she gives the horse's sides a nudge so that the animal springs instantly into a canter, then a gallop. Full speed, she urges in her mind. Come on, come on…

The other rider's lance glances off her new armor and Brittany grins beneath her visor because her own lance had splintered. She got the point. It was hers. She was winning. Cheerful and proud of herself, she lets her eyes wander the crowd… And she spots someone there that makes her think, well, maybe there was _one_ more person she'd tell her secret to if she got the chance. "Lady!" she calls up into the stands when she gets near enough. Sure enough, there was her black-haired beauty from before, sitting in the stands with a ridiculously bored expression on her face.

She frowns when the knight she'd met once before calls out to her, not sure what to make of the animated boy. He's young, Santana thinks, not much older than herself, and he is not like other knights at all. Others pass her by and promise to win the tournament for her. He – Sir Bryan Pricion of Brittany – only grins up at her and waves in a way completely unfitting of a knight and a lady. And yet... It suits him, the knight. For whatever reason, it suits him and Santana finds herself secretly charmed as he rides off even though her expression gives nothing away. "These young country knights look so foolish, the way they prance about."

His voice instantly grates on her nerves, but Santana holds her tongue. She knows her father would be angry if she were to ever shrug off Sir William Schuester's advances. And he does advance, the older knight with the hair better suited to a sheep than a man. His eyes are already territorial when he looks at her, as if he already owns her. "And yet he does well here, the knight you mock. And he seems to enjoy it. What is it you say, Samuel?" Her gaze shifts to the side and she smirks at her servant, a boy her age with a messy mop of blonde hair. "It's not the size of the lance, it's the strength of the thrust?" The boy chokes and goes crimson, denying ever having made such a comment. It has Santana dissolving into genuine laughter, waving him off. Beside her, William frowns with disapproval.

"Yes, well… We'll see how good he does when faced with real knights later in the tournament. Excuse me, Lady. I have business to attend to." And so saying, he leaves Santana behind with her servant. She frowns after him, dark eyes rolling after a moment.

"He's such an idiot, Sam. Can you believe my father wants me to marry that bastard?" She scoffs, fingers clenching into fists on her lap.

"Nope. But if you don't want to marry him, then don't. Wait for a more interesting knight in shining armor to ride in and swoop you off your feet. And hopefully knock you on your arse." He laughs and dodges her fist, grinning down at her before looking back down into the lists. The knight called Bryan is charging again, he and his opponent clashing with a loud crunch. The other knight is sent off his horse, falling heel over arse to the dirt below. Sam whoops and lifts a fist in the air while Santana rolls her eyes.

There is a smile tugging at her lips, though, and quite suddenly she leans over and says, "Sam, I have a job for you."

/

When Brittany comes in from her final – and winning – blow, she discovers a man is talking to Michael. He seems awfully familiar, but Brittany can't place him right away. She's too busy celebrating her win, voice fast and slightly higher than normal as she murmurs excitedly with Quinn and Puck. She doesn't think of the man again until Michael clears his throat, subtly calling her attention back to the pair. "What's going on?" she asks at last, wondering if he is some official with the faire. Does he know? Were they found out? Blue eyes flicker to Michael, but he's smiling too, way too amused with the situation at hand.

"This is Sam Evans," he says idly, rocking on his heels. "He is Lady Santana Lopez's servant."

Brittany's brow creases, perplexed by the name and what it is supposed to mean for her. She looks from Michael to Sam and back again until at last Michael smirks and adds, "The woman from the market." It's all the clarification Brittany needs and suddenly she is grinning, her eyes lighting up like it is Christmas morning.

"Lady!" she says cheerfully and the boy called Sam laughs, nodding.

"Yes, that's the one. Lady Santana wishes you to join her on a walk later today, Sir Bryan, when you are finished with your events and presentable again. Brittany is already nodding, hands motioning her squires forward to help her remove her armor.

"I'll be there. Please tell her I'll gladly meet her. Where should I meet her? I'll meet her anywhere." Sam only chuckles and says that Santana will be waiting in the church. It figures, Brittany thinks.

That is the best place to find an angel.


	4. The Truth

_Chapter Three_

"Take it off!" Brittany says anxiously, breaths coming quick from her lungs. They feel too constricted to hold her oxygen and so she gasps like she's starved for it. "Faster, please." The feminine hands she's been watching pause, hovering over her waist for a good minute before her eyes lift to focus on the woman across from her. Quinn is frowning in irritation at her impatience, head shaking slightly as she pushes her braid over her shoulder so it's no longer in the way.

"Honestly, B, your bouncing isn't helping me to strip your armor any faster," she chastises quietly. The effect is instant. Brittany freezes and falls back to the flats of her feet, grin sheepish as the blacksmith rolls her eyes and returns to her work.

She likes that Quinn has taken to calling her B, since it was the starting letter of both her real name and her knight's name and so felt less like she was lying. The group was trying to stay away from using her name, fearing that the wrong person will overhear and report them for their lies. Brittany doesn't mind. B feels friendly, comfortable. She wonders if perhaps her Lady – Lady _Santana_, she reminds herself once more, the bouncing starting again without her noticing – will call her B. If her voice will have that same familiar tone as her friends here. She hopes so. She wants to be Lady Santana's friend so badly.

"Stop bouncing," Quinn says again, hand smacking against her now armor free shoulder. She freezes again and Quinn manages to undo the last of her plates, setting them neatly aside to be polished later. Brittany is already stripping off her gambeson as she does so, exposing the thin linen undergarments and the bindings and fake parts beneath. Quinn moves to turn back towards her, but quickly looks away when she sees Brittany stripped of decent cover.

"Can you hand me my tunic and breeches?" she asks distractedly and the shorter woman passes them back without looking. "Thank you." So saying, she begins to dress again, humming to herself cheerfully as she does so as fast as possible.

Silently Quinn prays for patience when dealing with this group (though she supposes they aren't so bad most of the time). "You're strangely excited for this meeting," she comments idly. "Are you looking to win Sir Bryan a Lady?" Brittany's grunt of reply is not an answer. "It is your own business, B, but since I now know so much about you and yours, I must add my own thoughts to the mix. I don't think it's a wise decision. The more people who know, the more likely we are to get in trouble." There's silence in response and she huffs, arms folding across her chest. "I don't think finding Sir Bryan a Lady is wise. Can you not just have him gain the favor of many Ladies? Then no one specific woman will pay him any attention and we'll be safer. Besides, it seems to me that the Lady Santana is quite the-"

"I'm not interested in her for Bryan," Brittany says, cutting neatly into her insult as she steps around her to show she is decent again. Her smile is warm, sweet, and she cheerfully leans in to peck the shorter blonde's cheek. "I am interested in her for me. Trust me when I say there is more to her than what you see."

Quinn gives her a doubtful look. "What makes you say so? And what do you mean, for yourself?"

Brittany only giggles and shrugs her thin shoulders, reaching down to adjust the padding in the crotch of her breeches. "I want to be her friend, Quinn, as I am now yours. I just know."

"You just… Okay." Quinn rubs her temples, sighing heavily. "By God, Brittany, you are going to be hanged one day if you continue to go by 'I just know.' It is foolish."

"No I won't," she replies cheerfully as she double-checks that everything is in place. "If anything I will be thrown in the stocks and publicly humiliated, followed by imprisonment and possibly a beheading." Silence. She looks up from adjusting her sleeves to see Quinn staring at her, stunned. It makes her laugh and she shakes her head, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "I am jesting, Quinn. It will be fine. _She_ will be fine." A pause, and then she says more seriously, "Her heart is lonely. Surely you can understand that."

Quinn sighs and waves her hand in dismissal. "Fine, fine. Befriend your Lady. Just be _careful_." Because really, that is one think Quinn understands more than anything. Loneliness is the ultimate pain. If Brittany could help relieve some of hers, perhaps her magic is what Lady Santana needs as well.

Brittany doesn't say another word. Another quick smile and she's gone, the flaps of her tent fluttering in her wake.

/

She has to force herself to change her mannerisms on the way to the church. It is tempting to dance down the length of the streets, as her excitement feels so large that it's hard to contain it. But no, it isn't just herself she's protecting, so she keeps her new male mindset in her head as she walks. Well, walks quickly. If she'd been thinking straight, she would have taken Mercury, but she'd forgotten so walking it is.

Why did Santana want to walk with her? She'd been asking herself that very thing since her last event had ended and now she wants only to learn the secrets in the Lady's head. She wants to learn everything about Santana, truth be told. It sounds silly because they'd only just met and hardly talked at all and from the brief conversation they'd had, it almost seemed like Santana was cold and withdrawn. But there had been something in her eyes, something Brittany wanted to explore, something she would give anything to help. People like Santana shouldn't be so lonely.

The church comes into view, white and solid, and it makes her heart race in a way that probably isn't very holy. The thought makes her giggle for a second before she realizes it and has to clear her throat, forcing a more manly timbre. Santana stands at the base of the steps beside her man servant Sam and who Brittany and a woman who Brittany thinks is Sam's female counterpart. She doesn't pay her much attention, though, because her entire focus is on the woman now staring at her. "Lady," she says, all cheer and attempted masculinity. "You came."

Santana nods, her eyebrows winging up beneath the sweeping fringe of black hair that slants across her forehead. The rest of her hair is loose and long, curling down her back and over her shoulders. Brittany finds herself wanting to reach out and play with it, but she doubts someone so proper would appreciate the gesture. "Of course I came. I was the one who made these plans."

Brittany flashes a grin. "Right. Well, where are we walking, Lady?" She gallantly offers her arm, blue eyes steady on Santana's face.

There's a second's hesitation and then she slips her hand over the crook of it, gripping lightly before tugging Brittany off down the street. "Just around, Sir Bryan. And you may call me Santana, you know." As they walk, Sam and the girl Brittany doesn't know fall into step several paces back. They are chaperoning, Brittany knows, and she finds it hilarious that Lady Santana is not to be trusted alone with Sir Bryan. Mostly it's just funny because if they knew who she really was, this wouldn't be so very strange.

Her gaze slips sideways and down, focuses on Santana's profile with interest. She's so pretty and so full of secret things. They sparkle there just under the surface of her dark eyes and Brittany yearns towards them, towards her, wanting to pull each secret forth and figure out what makes Lady Santana Lopez tick. "Does knowing your name make you my own personal angel?" she asks in Bryan's quiet voice. Santana looks up at her – at him, really – and it amuses her to see suspicion in those eyes now. "You don't take compliments well." It's an observation, bright, candid. She's smiling, but only slightly so that Santana doesn't think she's laughing at her.

Santana puzzles over how clearly Sir Bryan sees her. How did those blue eyes see past her masks and walls? How did this boy know her so very well? "I often find the compliments of men to be empty," she responds with a lift of her shoulders. "When you hear them so often, and from so many, they lose any shine they might have held once."

Bryan stops and turns towards her, taking both of her hands with a seriousness that makes her stomach pitch. She looks from their joined palms to the earnest expression on the boy's face, surprised he has the ability to look so genuine. Most men she met could not manage it half as well. "I promise," he says, "That any compliment I give you is very full, Santana. I would never lie to you. You're far too clever and I am far too clumsy with untruths to manage it. Besides, you deserve to hear the truth. You're beautiful."

Santana is staring. She's never had someone speak so frankly with her, or so sweetly, and yet this boy had managed with something as simple as "you're beautiful" to shock her. People have said this to her before and she knows well enough that she is an attractive woman. But beautiful is something she's never believed about herself until this moment. It has warmth spreading in her chest and into her cheeks and she has to look away because she isn't certain how she feels about this at all. "Well… Thank you for your honesty," she manages before turning back down the path. He laughs quietly beside her, but doesn't try to stop her again.

To be honest, she'd asked Sir Bryan to walk with her so that she could irritate Sir William. But now that she's alone with him, she isn't at all certain that was really the only reason.

Brittany decides that this flustered version of Santana was the first of the secrets in her eyes, vulnerability something she tried to hide and now failed to with Brittany. She likes that she found it so soon, likes that she is already able to chip away at Santana's invisible armor, thicker and stronger than even her own custom made plates. It's sweet and breathtaking and it warms something in her belly in a way that makes her grin. But... hadn't she just told Santana she wouldn't lie to her? Santana… who thought her name was Bryan.

She glances sideways at her again and notes that Santana is biting her lower lip, gaze far away. Brittany likes the way it looks, caught between her teeth that way, and she can't help but stare even as Santana releases it to speak again. She's so distracted by it, in fact, that when it moves as Santana talks, she misses the words completely. It isn't until Santana turns her head to look at her that she realizes and a bright blush instantly colors her cheeks as she clears her throat and looks up again. "I, ah… I'm sorry, what was that?"

It is Santana's turn to look amused now. She lifts a brow, lips curling up at the corners into the smallest of smiles. "I asked what color your tunic will be for the celebration tomorrow night."

Brittany blinks, shrugs. "I hadn't thought on it. Why?"

Santana looks even more amused now. She laughs and the sound of it makes Brittany smile happily, even if it's at her expense. "So I can dress to match, of course. If you don't mind me attending with you, of course." There's no answer and Santana's smile fades slightly, goes nervous and tense as she looks away again. "If you'd prefer I didn't, then I-"

"Blue," Brittany blurts, realizing her lapse abruptly and correcting it with the first color that comes to mind. She hopes she can find a tunic that is, in fact, blue. She can't recall the things she's stitched with Santana looking at her in such distress. "It's blue, Lady Santana, and I would absolutely love for you to dress to match me." It relaxes Santana again. Brittany smiles and realizes that they've come full circle, around a few stands and back so that they stand in front of the church again.

They stop and Santana steps back, nodding slowly. "Then I will see you there, Sir Bryan. Thank you for walking with me."

Brittany smiles excitedly and nods, slowly backing away. "Thank you for inviting me, Lady Santana. I will see you tomorrow."

Santana watches Bryan, amused and flattered by his attentions in a way she never was with other men. He's a strange boy, to be certain, but there's something about him… Something she likes. He looks giddy as he backs away and she expects him to trip clumsily over a collection of pots behind him, but he dodges them gracefully without even seeming to look. He is sweet and odd and nothing she'd ever looked for.

She's starting to think it is everything she should have been looking for.


End file.
